


Outcome of Different Desires

by ProcrastinationIsMyCrime



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Reunions, Time Skips, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:47:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProcrastinationIsMyCrime/pseuds/ProcrastinationIsMyCrime
Summary: At Craigh na Dun, Claire's heart throbs from losing Jamie. The love of her life will never know their child. However, upon leaving the hilltop, Claire finds herself with more questions than answers. Frank won’t be able to help her, Claire knows that much. Pregnant, broke, with naught but a sgian dhubh and Fraser tartan, she makes the survival of her unborn baby, what remains of Jaime, her priority.
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 57
Kudos: 119





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A little something I wrote on impulse after binge watching the TV series.

Claire kept her eyes closed as she rested her head against what had to be the central stone of Craig Na Dun. There were no footsteps, nor the breathing of another person. Neither were there fading beats of a running horse. What she wouldn’t give to hear some clue that meant the stones hadn’t worked. Claire swallowed and a tear ran down her cheek. Jaime was gone. Murtagh had likely died at Culloden alongside him.

By one means or another, everyone who mattered was gone. Dust in a grave or a 200 year old battlefield. They were gone. She lowered a shaky hand to her belly. With child, Jaime had told her. Jaime’s child. And why he’d brought her here; sent her away through time so their baby would live. The baby she’d promised to name Brian. What remained of Jaime.

Forcing her eyes open, the fact she was alone seemed as though she’d been stabbed in the heart. Claire didn’t want to believe it, but the proof was in front her. No one else was here, nor crushed grass to suggest someone else had been here recently. The only tracks of pressed grass were her own.

With one shaky step after another, Claire made herself walk away from the stones to find the 20th century road to Inverness. A road that would result in Frank and a miserable marriage she didn’t want. As much as she would rather remain here and sob, Jaime’s baby had to survive, even if Jaime would never meet it. She’d failed with Faith. She would not fail with this one. She would endure a loveless marriage with the face of Black Jack Randall for the sake of Jaime’s child.

Claire wrapped the Fraser arisaid tighter around herself; blocking the wind from snatching what warmth she had. Inverness would be quite a walk and Claire wouldn’t risk catching hypothermia on the way. This baby will live, she vowed.

Lifting her head and straightening her back, Claire froze at the sight before her. Where there should have been road, there was naught but grass. Undisturbed grass. No tracks of tyres, boots or hooves. There was but one certainty. There was no road; dirt, gravel or hint of the 20th century.

This was neither the eve of Culloden nor the time of her previous life. Jaime’s presence would have left tracks. The 20th century would have had a road. There would be no Frank wanting answers about where she'd been or willing to help raise Jaime’s baby. Something had gone wrong at the stones and now she was alone, pregnant and no one to help her. Claire’s mind raced. It would allow her to think and calm down if she sat down for a moment, but she had to find shelter as soon as possible.

Taking a look at the stones for a final time, Claire blinked and tilted her head. A more worn appearance was surely due after years of Highland weather. However, she shook her head. Time was a commodity she couldn’t waste, and her best chance for now was the cottage where she’d first met Jaime. It was shelter and had a body of water nearby. She could pick up dry branches for a fire along the way.

It took keeping her mind numbed of everything else so she could focus. Claire had to survive so the baby would. Jaime’s baby. She would allow her mind to wander once she was safe, but now wasn’t the time. Food, shelter and water were her priorities. Once those were taken care of, she would be able to consider her options.

The nearer she ventured to the cottage, her arms became full of broken branches. However, the less time spent foraging the better. Her collection now on the ground, she tied one side of the arisaid to herself and used the other as a handle of sorts, piling the broken branches into her makeshift basket. More could be carried, thus less searching would be required later. At least that was her hope.

The arisaid was near full of usable wood when the cottage came into view. Releasing a breath, Claire fought an urge of dashing inside and finding out what she might be able to use. There was the possibility someone else resided there. If so, barging in would not end well.

Crouched and watching the cottage she’d last known to have been an abandoned home, Claire remained quiet and eventually neared the door. There had been no movement or sound for what she’d wagered to have been around half an hour. Opening her mouth as she neared the cottage, Claire paused. She was a Sassenach, and with no idea what time the stones had taken her to. Her voice, her accent wouldn’t help her here in the Highlands of Scotland. So instead, she lifted her hand to the door and gently knocked. She’d play a mute and let her glass face speak for her. Jaime had frequently teased her about how she couldn’t hide her thoughts. A trait she’d never thought she’d ever be glad to have.

Silence was her only company. Admittedly, it allowed Claire to breathe easier. She wouldn’t need to explain herself to a suspecting Scot. Claire opened the door slowly as a precaution, but was greeted by an empty home. Going over to the hearth, she dropped her wood collection beside it. Inside the hearth hung a metal bucket, the only useful item other than a wooden stool. The cottage had certainly been abandoned.

There was no knowing what season the stones had brought her to, so she seized the bucket and raced to the stream where she’d met Black Jack Randel. A person could survive three days without water. However, she was pregnant and half-starved from war. Nourishment and water were essential for her baby to grow and live, and she needed to recover from the strict rations; especially for the past two months.

For the next few hours, Claire gathered what resources she could and unfortunately have failed to find food, aside from a handful of berries and edible greens. Never had she had fished with her bare hands, but soldiers from Lallybroch had stood over streams in silence with some success. The description of tickling fish had sounded silly at the time, but with no other means of sustenance she had to try now. Once her bucket was full of water and in the cottage, she returned and mimicked seaweed with her fingers.

Twice she scared off fish that ventured near her fingers after an hour of standing in the same spot, but giving up was not an option. Despite how testing it was on her patience. There was nothing else for her to eat. Jaime had once confessed to eating grass at desperate times, but Claire needed nutrients. Without cattle or other farm animals, fish was her only choice. There wouldn’t be much iron eating fish, but she needed to fill her stomach.

On her third chance, she fumbled with the slippery thing but managed to get it far enough from the stream that she could kill it. The smell of gutting it was wretched, but it was food. Food desperately needed. She’d have to cook it in the fireplace.

That night having bathed in the lake, Claire lied near the hearth and wrapped in her arisaid. It was too dark to do anything but think. Boiled water in the bucket, wood piled in one corner, fish bones buried outside so she wouldn’t have to deal with the smell. Food in her belly. The essentials were taken care of.

Gazing down at her knife, her sgian dhubh, Claire turned it over in her hands while turning facts over in her mind.

There was no knowing what year it was. Had she gone backwards or forwards? Culloden had been April 16th. She’d met Jaime on May 2nd nearly three years prior. When she’d disappear from the 20th century it had been May 2nd as well. Assuming she’d been sent backwards instead of forwards, should she wait just over two weeks and risk encountering the MacKenzies? They’d brought an injured Jamie here that day.

Her heart raced at the possibility, but slowed just as quickly when she touched her Fraser tartan arisaid. How would she, a Sassenach, explain possessing it? It was her only durable source of warmth. Jaime and Murtagh would definitely recognise the tartan of their clan. Dougal MacKenzie would be more suspect of her now than he had been when they first met. Perhaps she could hide it on the day. What would happen if they found it? A shudder went down her spine. If the stones had sent her backwards, an English patrol could be upon her before she reached Inverness if she tried. A pregnant woman walking alone was vulnerable; that was undeniable. Not to mention she had no money for an inn.

What if she’d been sent forward in time? Speaking Gaelic or possessing books written in the language were illegal, but she was alone and had no books. Tartan was punishable to possess after the ’45. A blank arisaid would be fine, but hers had the tartan of Clan Fraser; that of a known traitor. If the English happened upon her and found it there would be trouble. If she dared to travel to a safe haven, Claire would need its warmth. She mustn't fall sick while having this baby.

Claire took a breath and slowly sighed. Following Bonnie Prince Charlie had left her half-starved, which meant her baby, Jaime’s baby, was as well. Here, she had a stable source of greens and fish, water she could boil, along with warmth and shelter from the Highland weather.

She couldn’t stay here for the next seven months, but she needed to recover before leaving this cottage.

Perhaps months of hunger should be counteracted with months of plenty. But afterwards where would she go? Inverness? Broch Mordha? Claire had no answers at the moment. Just as she didn’t know what year the stones had placed her in.


	2. Forward C.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Forward in time. But how far was it?

In one corner of the cottage, Claire placed a sixteenth twig to join the others. May 2nd. She’d counted the days since settling here, yet the date that she’d first met Jamie had passed uneventfully. Was it even the right year? She had no idea. She’d only left the cottage for emptying her game traps, foraging and fishing. Placing a hand on her growing baby bump, Claire retrieved her arisaid from its hiding place and wrapped her body in the thick wool.

In front of the hearth, a healthy fire crackling, she lied down and closed her eyes. She hadn’t the bed of a laird, nor limitless bounty when she ate, however, her belly made no grumbles for more food as it had done during the ’45. She and Jaime’s baby weren’t going hungry and that mattered above all.

It may have been a foolish hope that she’d encounter her husband, but the combination of the right date and location had fed her dream of a swift reunion. She couldn’t be faulted for it though, could she? Something as unbelievable as time travel had already happened once before.

But what would she have said if he had appeared? Announce she was pregnant with his child? Claire huffed. As if they’d have believed it. Such a thing would’ve been reckless. She’d have been laughed at as though she was insane. If she’d spoken Jaime’s name, Dougal would likely have slit her throat for being a ‘Sassenach spy’. Claire swallowed and released her breath. It was for the best, despite how much seeing Jaime again stirred in her mind. If he was alive. She prayed, by some miracle, that he was.

She had waited, but he wasn’t here. Speculation could no longer haunt her mind, and neither would regret-laden ‘what if’s. Warmly wrapped in front of the hearth, Claire took a slow breath. She’d need much energy in the coming days. Increased foraging and fishing to ensure she ate well before her eventual trip to Inverness. She and the baby would need sustenance, especially before leaving. In her current condition, Inverness would take a week at best. Obtaining food would be difficult, as proven by the pangs she’d gone through following Charles Stewart.

Even though walking with the baby bump at its current size would be quicker to Inverness, the days were beginning to grow warmer and longer. In additional daylight, a patrol would have higher odds of spotting her. The chance to intercept and question her. She hadn’t the ability to give convincing lies. There’d be a better chance of avoiding a Redcoat patrol in the waning weeks of summer.

The time between reaching town and having the baby would be close. Claire sighed and adjusted her head. Necessity gave her no other choice. So long as Claire didn’t push herself, it was the best she could do. 

The following days and weeks went as planned with heartier eating and more boiled and cooled water. But one early summer morning while she foraged on a hilltop, a quick wave of crimson washed past in the direction her cottage. Claire’s heart raced. Had she left the outside of the cottage as untouched as she’d first found it? Had she maintained the abandoned look well enough?

Huddled against a thick trunk, she stayed absolutely still for a torturous eternity. Claire peered up at the sky and the sun hadn’t moved but a little. Stiff against the tree, she silently accounted for what she had on her person.

Knife? She always carried it. Arisaid? Its warmth was surrounded her. The travel preparations? Claire stilled her breath. No, those were in the cottage. Redcoats hadn’t graced this area since she’d settled in that abandoned cottage. Absolutely still, she closed her eyes and strained for any commotion one would expect during a raid, but nothing reached her ears. Raid or not, Claire refused tempting fate with a second opportunity.

Logically there wouldn’t be two patrols in a small timespan. To reach Inverness without trouble, today would be the most ideal. Tonight preferably so to ensure the British had definitely left. It was earlier than intended, but Claire couldn’t see another choice.

That night, she took the meat she’d dried to an almost brittle state and a bucket of boiled water. All she had. The dried meat would last her for a few days, as would the clean water. It would allow her to cover the most distance in the first few days, but rests in the cover of the trees would be necessary. Even if to simply sit for a small while, Claire would do it and not push her luck with this baby. Her carelessness and exertion in Paris was how she’d lost Faith. She’d be damned if that happened again.

*

A week and a half later she gingerly walked into Inverness. The journey had drained Claire so much that the thought of a misstep hounded her. She’d been this far along in her pregnancy when she lost Faith. If Claire tripped over herself…she shuddered and took a slow breath.

She dropped the empty bucket; a now useless item. A wooden fence stood nearby, so she approached and gripped it tight enough that it pinched her palms. Her eyes fell to her hands, a ring on each. A poor woman in possession of gold would raise questions. Wriggling off Frank’s ring, she buried it in a pocket of her dress, but hastily gripped the fence once more. Relieved the walk was over, Claire took greedy breaths.

According to her hearing, few people roamed the town yet, so she stopped fighting the shudders of her body. And it seemed there were relentless spots of fire beneath her feet; irritated blisters, she guessed. Her mind must have numbed the pain while she’d been singularly focussed on Inverness and the possibility of a midwife here.

Soft steps neared her. “Lass, gi’ me yer arm,” a woman’s kind voice said. Claire glanced over her shoulder. An aged woman with greying brown hair, who had some strength about her instead of fragility. The lady wasn’t large like Mrs Fitz in Claire’s memory, but this woman had a similar tender warmth about her. “I ken ye’re weak and wi’ bairn. I’ll see ye safe. Gi’ me yer arm, aye? Ye’re deid o’ yer feet.”

Nodding softly, Claire extended her arm out to the woman, who took her wrist and was swift to grip Claire’s elbow as well.

“Wee steps, lass,” she said, and took a slow step, her gaze on Claire. “I’ve go’ ye.”

With hope that her face spoke for her, Claire focussed on this helper. _Why are you helping me?_ The older lady just smiled and tilted her head towards something further into the town, but Claire eyes were fixed on this lady. Claire knew this woman had spoken the truth. Her journey to Inverness had been more difficult than expected. Would this have been as tiring if Faith had been the baby in her belly?

Slowly, step after step of allowing this woman’s support, hovering images of tripping and falling began abating. It burned within Claire to say a word of thanks. But what if her English voice displeased this woman? Would she be less inclined to help? Daring not to test the matter, Claire kept quiet while making no effort to conceal anything expressed on her face. With her gaze fixed on this lady, Claire glanced at what she was wearing. There was no great difference other than that Claire’s clothes weren’t as finely made. One less issue to worry about. Claire could honestly claim poverty. But what year was she in? Chances were that uttering the name ‘Fraser’ held too much risk.

With buildings on either side, the woman led Claire through a door where an air of herbs and oils struck her. Lavender amongst them. A whiff of ginger made her turn her head. Mint nearby as well. Maybe she was in an apothecary?

A light chuckle drew her attention to the aged woman supporting her walk. “Ken yer herbs, do ye, lass?”

Claire gave a soft smile and nodded, but kept silent once again. She was a Sassenach, but needed help as well. It would be beyond foolish by allowing her accent to deter this woman from assisting her now.

The woman patted Claire’s arm and took both of her hands. “Sit, lass. Let me loo’ at ye.”

To Claire’s left stood a long bench with two cushions. Supporting her own weight as best she could, Claire gripped the seat before she dared lowering her body. She wouldn’t risk a tumble now after coming so far.

A light thud sounded from the other side of the room, but the woman stood in front of Claire once again before she could sate her curiosity. Had it merely been a basket of herbs? However, a pull on her arisaid snapped Claire to attention. Her sole reliable source of warmth however dirtied the woollen fabric was. Claire gripped it and looked the woman straight in the eye. What did she want with her arisaid?

“I wilna take it. I need tae check yer bairn, mo nighean.”

Claire’s cheeks burned. At a month or so shy of thirty, she was too old to be called ‘my girl’. Was her appearance fearful enough she looked that much younger? Jaime had admitted to mistaking her for being years younger than her true age once.

Taking a breath, Claire lifted aside the fabric of her arisaid that covered her dress and lower half. Would the smell of the dress beneath disgust this woman? There hadn’t exactly been a chance to wash it during travel since this was all she owned. Either way, how was her baby? She’d been this far along with Faith before that fateful day. Claire glanced down at the kneeling woman who touched Claire’s belly. She was searching for something, but what? Was something wrong?

A series of jolting kicks made Claire lick her lips and meet the woman’s eyes.

“Relax, lass. Yer bairn kens ye’re worriet. Ye need ta calm down,” the woman said while feeling Claire’s dress-covered belly. Taking a seat beside Claire, the woman looked her in the eye. “Yer first bairn?”

Claire swallowed and slowly shook her head. Faith. Little Faith with her Fraser ears and Jaime’s hair. Claire’s throat tightened, eyes moistened, and warmth quickly engulfed her.

“Dinna fight crying, lass. ‘Tis normal ta cry,” the older woman murmured in her ear, stroking the back of Claire’s head. “Yer bairn might live, if ye listen ta me.”

Within the motherly woman’s hold, Claire gave into the sobs and tears not only for Faith, but for Jaime as well. Was he dead? Had he survived? What year was this? Would he ever meet his child?

After she’d grown quiet, the woman hummed as though in thought and pulled back from embracing Claire. “Weel clean ye up and weel talk, aye?” she said, stepped back and offered Claire help to her feet. She gestured towards a door that separated the rest of the building from the store front.

Claire took a shaky breath and nodded. There was no choice in the matter, because Lallybrock and Brock Mordha would have to be at least two weeks of walking away for her. Claire had taken a week and a half to reach Inverness unhindered. Odds were she wouldn’t be so lucky if she made an attempt for Lallybrock. If Jaime was a fugitive for his role in the ’45, Redcoats were likely looking for him. It’d make sense for him to hide himself near Jenny and Ian to survive the famine. Hopefully, the struggle for food had already ended.

Regardless of how matters currently stood, Redcoat evidently still patrolled the Highlands to some extent. The odds of avoiding the English a second time, heavily pregnant or carrying an infant were against her. If Claire possessed money for sending Jenny or Ian a message, she would. Alas, she didn’t, for Claire and Jaime’s baby within her needed food. All she had was Frank’s ring to barter with. Another way had to exist.

“Arisaid off, lass,” the woman said, snapping Claire out of her thoughts.

It’d be wise to waste as little of this woman’s time as possible, so Claire unbelted and removed the bulky woollen warmth she’d depended on. It was browned after sleeping on the ground with it for months. She began with the dress after a quick glance, which earnt a nod from the woman. Piece after piece, Claire soon stood in only her shift, and the woman wasn’t shy about helping her out of it.

“Sit, lass,” she said and approached a stool which had a bowl with water and cloth nearby. “Ye’re with bairn and wilna push yerself. Sit.”

Once more, Claire sat but this time in only her skin. A warm hand touched the back of her shoulder, but wet coolness soon joined it and made her shudder.

“I ken ‘tis cold, but ye need ta be clean.”

Claire nodded her head, which the woman likely saw.

The rest of the washing had been much the same, where Claire responded with only her body or face. Comments on her skin’s softness were made, along with questions of if she was a widow and if she knew certain herbs. The woman revealed her name was Sileas but didn’t push for Claire to tell Sileas hers. After being assisted into a fresh shift, the last remark made Claire freeze.

“Ye’re odd lass. Wilna use yer voice or the ring on yer finger,” Sileas said, leading Claire into a room that had a faint scent that brought forth memories of wounded men.

It grew a little stronger as they neared the bed. Had this woman worked in this room as a midwife? What else had been done here that’d left the tinge of blood in the air?

Sileas stopped, but nodded to the lumpy mattress. Claire supposed she was meant to lie down on it since she was in naught but a shift. The woman sat beside Claire and spoke while inspecting Claire as though she were a bug under a magnifying glass. Almost nothing was spared from Sileas’s eyes. However, with a look that seemed not overly displeased, the woman lifted Claire’s only hand with a ring on it and stared.

A picture of it was clear in her mind. A wide silver band. The Highland interlace style decorating it. A small thistle bloom at the centre of each link. Why would Jaime’s ring interest Sileas? Her accent matched other Scots. The ring’s style should be familiar to her. What did Sileas think she’ll learn from the ring?

Sileas lowered Claire’s hand and met her gaze. “Lass,” she said and straightened where she sat. “Ye dinna need hide ye’re no’ a Scot. Ye have English accent, aye? Why ye didna speak.”

She swallowed and nodded. The woman hadn’t danced around eggshells, leaving Claire no chance but to answer. “I married a Scot. He sent me away so our child will be safe from Redcoats. Last I saw him was months ago,” Claire whispered and took a breath. “I don’t even know if my husband is alive or…dead.”

“Och, weel ye’re nae travellin’ til the bairn is born. Ye’re too far ‘long now, lass.”

Considering the fact that remaining in Inverness for the rest of her pregnancy was best, Claire had to know one thing first. “There was a Redcoats patrol not two weeks past. How often do they come through Inverness?” she whispered, resting a hand over her growing belly. “Will my baby be safe here?”

“Ye need ta hide yer arisaid. Its go’ tartan on it. Redcoats wilna find it if ye hide it proper. They havna looked hard fer three years no’.”

Claire sat up and drew her legs to her chest for what privacy she could get. Sileas’s last comment had her heart beating a little faster. “Three years? What happened three years ago that they would ease their raids?”

“Ye dinna ken?” Sileas said, passing Claire a metal cup of water. “Redcoats say ‘hey found Red Jamie a’ Lallybroch. Took ‘im as prisoner, but I dinna ken wha’ happened af’er.”

Her gaze dropped to her feet, Claire took a slow drink of water. He was alive, at least until three years ago. However, simply being found at Lallybroch wouldn’t sit right in Claire’s mind. Jamie was wilful, resourceful and stubborn. There had to be more than simply being found. “Found? For a warrior with the name ‘Red Jamie’, I doubt that Redcoats found him wandering around Lallybroch during a raid.”

Claire turned her eyes to Sileas, who had a twitching lip. “Nay, he was waitin’ at the gate.”

She stiffened, gaping at Sileas. “What?” she whispered. “He turned himself in? Why?” 

Sileas’s eyes changed to something softer somehow. The older woman retrieved a corset and dress from somewhere in the room. “Up and turn ‘round, lass. I’ll teel ye, and ye’ll show me wha’ ye can do wit’ herbs. Ye’ll earn tis room and food. Work here. Aye?”

Claire licked her lips and nodded. “Tha agus tapadh liebh, Sileas.” What other choice was there? Frank’s ring wouldn’t be worth enough for a room in the inn for three months, let alone food while growing a baby.

A chuckle came from behind her followed by another pull on the laces of the corset. “Lass, ’Aye’ would o been enough. I ken ye’re desperate bu’ ye dinna need tae do that. Be good a’ herbs and work haird. Gàidhlig is illegal no’.”

Heat rushed to Claire’s cheeks. The law didn’t surprise her. “I’m aware, but you have my word I won’t utter it again,” she said and glanced over her shoulder. “What do you wish for me to do? I served at L'Hôpital des Anges in Paris as a healer. Mother Hildegarde was sad to see me leave.”

Sileas passed Claire the last she needed for dressing and wandered off into another room, which gave Claire a chance to seize Frank’s ring while Sileas wouldn’t see. Gold had value after all. She swept into the door that Sileas used a moment ago. “A healer, eh? I didna ken Mother Hildegarde, bu’ I do need tae ken what ye can do. I’ll tell the story of Red Jamie t’night.”

The first half of the day passed by busier than Claire had expected. Due to the summer weather, numerous children and adolescents injured themselves worse than mere scrapes and bruises. No surprise, truly. Sileas and her husband simply prepared and sold the medicine. There were occasions where mothers had brought their hurt child with them, which lead to Sileas witnessing Claire’s capacity as a healer.

After a few, Sileas had chosen to begin offering Claire’s abilities as well for a fee. Robert, Sileas’s husband, was out of town on business and thus wouldn’t be able to speak in support or against Sileas’s decision for at least a week, Claire had been told. She'd have to prove her worth.

That decision though resulted in more people gracing the door of Sileas’s apothecary. After the first few patients, it became clear that any tending involved use of Claire’s chamber. However, she made no complaint because, for lack of a better word, she was stranded in Inverness until her baby was a few months old. Given the fact that the Redcoats had eased back on their raids, Claire suspected too much time had passed for simply waltzing into Lallybroch without Jamie to ward off the likely demands for answers. She prayed he still lived.

Inverness would be her home for now, but Claire wasn’t to leave the apothecary to treat anyone unless Sileas approved; midwife’s orders. Today wasn’t up for debate at all. Her body needed food, water and energy after her journey. In agreement with Sileas, Claire internally refused overexerting herself and risking her baby’s life. She won’t lose another child of Jamie’s.

Although Claire would strictly remain inside the apothecary, there was no shortage of work. Sileas gathered ingredients and had put Claire to work in turning them into fine powders. In the meantime, Sileas tended to deliveries for recurring customers. While alone, Claire peered at the date on an inventory list and her jaw dropped, which she snapped shut and returned to grinding SIleas’s ingredients.

Without Jamie, Jenny would certainly give Claire a difficult time and relentless pursue an answer she’d believe. Would the blame of Jamie surrendering to the Redcoats be heaped onto Claire’s shoulders? Regardless, Claire brushed the road dust and dirty from her arisaid and hid it beneath a loose plank in her room.

That evening at the dining table upstairs, Claire broke a lull in conversation. “Sileas?”

“Aye, Lass?” The older woman seemed content calling her that and Claire didn’t mind it either.

“Earlier today, you said Red Jamie had been waiting at the gate of Lallybroch for the Redcoats. Scots are proud, so why turn himself over to the British? At least, it sounded as though he turned himself in.”

Sileas nodded and sipped her whisky. “Aye, he did. Ye see, Lass, times were haird and he had a bounty on his heid. The laird had nay family, but his sister did. I dinna ken what made him choose tae surrender, but the money wen’ tae his sister. Fed her family by havin’ her say she was handin’ him over ta the Redcoats.” 

Claire averted her gaze to her empty plate. He’d done what he always did when family was in trouble; put himself in between it by one way or another. Lallybrock. Fort William. Wentworth. “That was a selfless thing to do,” she murmured and looked back up. “He must of felt he had nothing left to lose…”

“Aye, the wee lad who comes here sometimes said the sister didn’t want tae do it, but Red Jamie told her ta claim the money.”

Was the ‘wee lad’ Fergus? Or was Sileas talking about now-not-so-wee Jamie? Claire could send letters to Lallybroch if she knew who to look for. However, she let the question rest so Sileas wouldn't be suspicious of her identity. The pregnancy should plant doubt in the woman’s mind though, if necessary. “What do you think Red Jaime’s fate was considering how he earnt that name?”

“I dinna ken, Lass.”

Claire didn’t press any further on the topic of Jaime. She hoped that the world didn’t have a cruel sense of humour.

*

Giving instructions to her customer in need of a cold remedy, Claire, with her belly fit to burst, handed the man his change and bade him farewell. Despite how big she’d gotten with her hyperactive baby, she gave into her urge to move around inside the warmth of the store.

Over the months, she’d been granted a more permanent chamber above the store after the extra revenue she earnt Robert and Sileas. In that better room, Sileas had had Claire on bedrest for the past five weeks with nothing to do but sew and knit. While she could sew human flesh without a problem, hours upon hours of struggling to manipulate fabric had earnt her pity from the older woman. Pity, but not assistance. Tough love, she supposed. Through the never-ending frustration, Claire had knitted passable clothing that should protect hers and Jaime’s child from the shivering weather to come. Her sewing had been slightly better but not by much.

Waddling around the store, a gentle press on her back brought Claire to a halt. Beside her stood Sileas. “Lass, Claire, we need ta get ye settled in the chamber.” She took a breath and met Sileas’s green eyes, which softened when Sileas gave her shoulder a squeeze. “I ken it, Lass. ‘twill be time verra soon.”

She’d almost died last time and Claire shuddered before she took the first step to the birthing chamber. Something within her said Sileas had it right. When her friend and employer closed the door and turned to her, Claire took a breath and exhaled. “Sileas?” What would happen to her baby if she died? Would it ever meet its father? “Could I ask you a favour?”

Sileas cupped Claire’s shoulder and met her eyes. “Aye, Lass. I ken this scares ye.”

Claire swallowed and squared her shoulders. “If I die…” She took another breath. “If I die, could you take my baby to family? They might not accept me, but they would accept my baby.” If the baby took after Jamie, it wouldn’t be like Jenny to turn an infant away. Would Jenny take in a baby if it favoured Claire? Would Jenny recognise a resemblance or had it been too long since they’d last seen one another?

With a gentle shoulder squeeze, Sileas gave Claire an almost motherly smile. “Aye, Claire, if it comes tae that. But I ken ye’ll be fine, so dinna fash verra much. I’ll help ye.”

The room fell into a soothing silence as Sileas helped Claire out of her layers except the shift. Cupping her swollen belly, Claire took slow steps. She needed to move around. After a silent look from Silas that told Claire she would be back, the woman slipped out of the room and gently closed the door.

Near Claire’s ribs was quite the number of kicks from the baby. She took a breath and released it. They were kicks, not little punches. If a baby was breach, the jolting kicks would’ve come from lower down. Claire smiled and placed her hand over the area where the little life within her struck Claire with two feet. Had Sileas been right and Claire was having twins? Or had this baby inherited Jamie’s size and now eager to escape the confines of her womb? She smiled to herself. The latter seemed more likely. However, Claire grimaced at the next kick. They weren’t gentle.

A short time later, Sileas returned and dimmed the sunlight in the room with the window’s drapes. “Av ye water broke, Lass?” she asked, coming over to Claire and rubbed her back while pressing over different areas of her belly.

“Not y…Wait,” she said and shifted a foot. She certainly hadn’t used the chamberpot since coming in here. Claire nodded. “Broken, Sileas.”

Sileas’s lips twitched and she gave Claire’s shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll look af’er ye, Lass. Ye ken it, aye?”

Claire nodded. Where and what situation would she have been in now had Sileas not employed her healing in exchange for food and shelter? “I know.”

The woman’s hands checking Claire’s belly once more, Sileas glanced up at Claire and nodded to her. “Keep walkin’ and I’ll be righ’ ‘ere.”

After hours of wordlessly assisted walking, Claire broke the silence. “Do you have grandchildren, Sileas?”

“Na anymore. Fe’er took ‘em.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Tis na ye fault, Lass.”

Claire roamed the birthing room for hours until, with a glance at Sileas, she was assisted to her hands and knees atop a fabric-covered pile of hay in the centre of the room. Would she have ever considered a birth in this way had she been alone? With a shake, she cleared her mind as best she could. Sileas had delivered other babies throughout the latter half of Claire’s pregnancy. What more proof could she have that Sileas knew what she was doing as a midwife in this era?

“Hands an’ heid on here, Claire,” Sileas said, lifting aforementioned limbs onto a short stool and placed a block with thick cushioning under her chest. “Leat nature help ye wi’ yer bairns.”

Gravity. Sileas meant gravity. Claire, her head rested atop her crossed arms, centred herself on breathing. Sileas rubbed Claire’s sides through her shift, her pace akin to slow breathing and Claire matched it the best she could. Her contractions had a notable gap between them at the moment. Would Jaime ever meet a child of his? Was Sileas right and she was having twins? Or was it a baby destined to grow tall like its father?

After hours of mild brief pains in her back, Claire lost the choice to think on anything other than the imminent arrival of her baby. Contractions demanded all of her attention. In the background, Sileas’s words were soft but clear.

“Dinna push, Claire. It inna time yet,” she said, a hand running up and down Claire’s back. “Ye’re doing weel.”

An urge for pushing consumed her mind, but the image of Faith dead in her arms made Claire resist. She mustn’t lose another child.

“Wit’ ye next pain, Claire, push.”

Barely a breath resided in her body, but she gave everything she had despite the hell inflicted upon her. Contraction after contraction. All she wanted was for it to be over. How big was this baby?

“Ye’re no’ done yet, Lass. A wee bit more an’ the af’erbirth.”

How much more could there be? Claire bore down when the next contraction struck and wished for the end of this. The pain and pressure fell away considerably. A wail filled the air. Tears trickled down her cheeks and chin at the sound of life. She’d done it. Which parent had the baby physically favoured? Washed of her worst fears and her breath easier, Claire bore down a few more times. She had to push out the afterbirth.

“Weel done, Lass,” Sileas said from somewhere and someone pulled Claire to her feet, as good as dragging her a few steps and lowered her down onto a soft surface. The bed, she assumed. “Rest, Claire.”

No cries filled the air. Her heart raced and she gripped Sileas with what little ability she had left. “My baby? I want my baby. Sileas, please. Please.”

“Hush, Claire. Alive,” Sileas murmured and brushed Claire’s cheek, pushing hair out of the way. She disappeared but came back a second later with a wrapped bundle in her arms. “Ye have a braw son, Claire. Do ye have a name fer ‘im?”

Claire stroked the baby’s soft cheek as he rooted about for her breast. “Brian,” she said, eyes fixed on her little boy while he fed. “Brian James Murtagh Beauchamp…MacKenzie.”

Too much of a risk resided in using either Murray or Fraser. Would someone realise who she and her child was had she used Murray? This close to Lallybroch? Even if she lacked the means to travel herself? Had the maiden name of Jamie’s mother been any better of a choice? Dougal was dead. Would her child be safe? Would a MacKenzie in this area be believable?

“An’ yer wee lassie?” Sileas said, and Claire snapped her head up from watching her busy son.

Her throat constricted. There wasn’t the sound of another baby. Stillborn Faith had been silent too. “Sileas…Sileas, is she alive? Did she survive? Please.”

Gentle fingers brushed hair from her forehead as Sileas nodded. “Aye, Claire. Yer wee lassie did. Braw, bonnie bu’ tired,” Sileas whispered and disappeared from the small world of Claire and her little Brian. Another small weight rested upon her. Claire kept the little girl steady on her chest beside Brian. “Wha’ name weel’ ye giv yer bonnie lassie?”

Claire licked her lips and remained quiet for a moment. She swallowed. “Ellen Claire…,” she said and faltered before she met Sileas’s gaze. “…Sileas MacKenzie. I would like to give my daughter that name, but…”

A tear slid down Sileas’s cheek and the older woman sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down a little. “Ye would give yer bairn me name?” Sileas asked, her gaze fixed on Claire.

She gave a slow nod. It would spoil the moment if Claire gave her the main reason for that name. “My babies are alive and well. I couldn’t be more thankful. I lost little Faith, but Ellen is alive. And her brother is too. That means so much to me, Sileas. So, so much,” she said, her eyes pricking with moisture.

With a slow hand, the woman wiped away Claire trickling tears while it seemed that Sileas’s eyes had started shining a little. “Aye, ye can use me name, Lass. I’d be ‘onoured.” Sileas carefully brought up a blanket and rested it over Claire and the babies, but sat beside her once again. “Ye wee bairns have da MacKenzie hair. Their athair, aye?”

Claire nodded. “Who got it from his mother. I’m glad they take after their father,” she said, choking back a gasp.

“Hush, Claire. Ye and yer bairns nee’ rest,” Sileas murmured, but her lip twitched. “I tol’ ye ye were havin’ two bairns,” she teased, patting Claire’s knee and rose. “Rest. Didna worry abou’ healing. No’ many get hurt in winter. I weel be fin on me own. Yer bairns need ye.”

She took a chance to ask something a normal person like Sileas would consider odd. However, since Claire had just given birth, chances were it wouldn’t garner much of a reaction.

“Sileas.”

“Aye?”

“What’s today’s date in full? My children’s birthday?”

Sileas chuckled. “23rd November, 1756. Rest, Lass, ye just had yer bairns,” she said and left the room.

*

True to Sileas’s word, Claire hadn’t been called upon once to heal anyone in the weeks that followed the birth of Brian and Ellen. Robert, Sileas’s husband, out of begrudging respect or perhaps gratitude for the improved business and reputation of the apothecary, had allowed Claire to remain. He’d had her moved downstairs to the birthing room on the store’s floor. Although the household level was more pleasant, Claire nonetheless had a roof over the heads of her children, so she made no fuss.

It had been a month when she returned to working again. Both for her sanity as well as keeping Robert content with her residency. As much as Claire enjoyed the outdoors, Sileas adamantly tasked Claire with inside duties for the apothecary. Each day was grinding, mixing, sales, and healing. It protected her babies’ health, and why she hadn’t argued. They were vulnerable to winter’s chill and needed her milk.

Claire watched Jamie’s babies grow over the months, and they’d taken a liking to Sileas. It seemed their presence softened the older woman’s heart. More than occasionally, the former grandmother played with them well after Claire had finished healing a patient. Perhaps Ellen and Brian were a balm for Sileas’s loss of grandchildren?

On one such day, Claire strode across Inverness with the medicines repeat customers needed. Normally, she had one of her twins in a sling, but she’d left both of them in Sileas’s care since they’d been fed roughly an hour ago. She hadn’t the heart to disrupt Sileas and the twins.

Upon leaving the home of the third customer, Claire checked the list for the next one with hope she’d done all of them.

“Milady? Is that truly you?”

What could she say? Claire took a breath and turned. Dismounting a horse in the middle of the street, the young man hobbled it to the nearest post. He had the likeness of what she’d often imagined of Fergus at the age of twenty-one. She approached and pulled him into a hug. “Fergus. Look at you,” she said and pulled back. “You’re such a handsome young man.”

Fergus stared without blinking, as though fearful she’d disappear if he did. “You’ve not aged a day since I last saw you, Milady. Why Inverness and not Lallybroch? Milord said you were gone.”

Claire glanced around and there were a fair number of people milling through town. Ian wasn’t amongst them. “Fergus, it’s dangerous to explain here. Did you come alone?” she asked, and began walking towards Fergus’ horse, the young man beside her.

“Oui, Milady. I’m to get what Ian needs. He stays at Lallybroch most days,” Fergus said and licked his lips. “Why have you not come home?”

What could she believably say without lying? She led Fergus and his horse to the outskirts of town where no one could listen in without being seen. “Jamie wanted me hidden where I wouldn’t be found. So, in a way, I was gone. He wanted me safe from the raids and clearances, which also meant no Lallybroch and no letters,” Claire said and sat herself down on a fallen tree. Claire gripped Fergus’s hand within her own. Her heart raced. She must know. “Fergus, is Jaime alive?”

“Milord is.”

Her breath left her. Still alive? Claire’s hand flew to her mouth and she bit back a sob. What was life like for him? Was it cruel or kind? Where was he? She shook where she sat. An arm stroked hers. “I beg you, Fergus. Tell me everything you know. Leave nothing out.”

“You will never have to beg, Milady,” Fergus said and straightened himself which made metal where a hand should be shine a little. He caught her glancing at it and tugged his sleeve down. “Redcoats,” he said and looked away for a moment. “After Culloden, Milord returned on death’s door. Afterwards, he hid in a cave on the estate. Three years ago, when…” Fergus glanced down at the amputated arm. “Well, after that, he decided everyone would be safer if he turned himself in. Milord had Jenny claim the bounty. Redcoats were taking our food. People were hungry. It…frustrated Milord that he couldn’t help properly, so with a price on his head, Milord did what he thought was best.”

There hadn’t been much else he could have done with a bounty on his head, had there? “And surrendered himself to the British,” she murmured. “To protect those he loves.”

“Oui.”

Claire turned her gaze to Fergus. “And you said he’s alive?”

Fergus nodded. “He’s a paroled prisoner. An estate in England. Milord is a groom there.”

Not executed? He was free of the rations and shackles of prison? Was his identity known? And he could move and breathe the open air? “Jesus H Roosevelt Christ. Jamie certainly knows how to land on his feet,” she said and glanced towards the apothecary within Inverness for a moment. “Merci, Fergus. Where’s the estate?”

That earnt her a pitying look from Fergus. “You cannot visit Milord, Milady. I’m sorry.”

How could life dangle Jamie so close to her reuniting with him, only to snatch it away? “What? Why? Fergus, how do you know this?” she choked out. “There has to be a way Jamie can know I’m alive. That the baby survived. Is there a way?”

Fergus fiddled with his collar but met her gaze. “Possibly…I don’t know if a letter would reach him. His reached us, but it had many creases.”

“Read by another person?”

The grown French former pickpocket shrugged. “That would make sense.”

If letters were being read, what could she do that wouldn’t tell an unintended reader anything she wished hidden? She rubbed her hands together and glanced at the beautiful landscape of Scotland. It would make a lovely piece of art. Could communicating with him that way work? Straightening up on the log, she turned to Fergus. “Will you promise me something?”

“Oui, Milady.”

“Jenny is a Fraser with the stubborn temper to match.” That made Fergus chuckle. “I’ll write to Jenny and Ian, but my location must be a secret. There are things I'll need Jaime’s help for explaining. I can’t tell them without Jaime.”

Fergus bit his lip. “Like why you look so young? Are you a witch?”

Jaime had asked her that once. The corner of her mouth twitched. “No, but it would definitely be easier if I was,” she said. “Will you deliver letters for me, but not reveal that I’m here?”

“Milord missed you fiercely, Milady.”

How had Jamie endured it? “Jamie is on my mind every day. I have every intention to write to him, Fergus.”

Fergus gave her a firm nod, but kept his gaze on her. “I will keep your secret, Milady. Do you promise to return to Lallybroch when you can?”

With his human hand within both of hers, Claire nodded. “I swear on my life.”

*

In her and her children’s room on the household level of the apothecary, Claire held the first response she’d received from Fergus. Had Jenny and Ian believed the claim she’d made about living in the Colonies? What other claim could have deterred them from seeking her out? Had she made the right choice?

The letter Claire had sent with Fergus, she’d backdated to 16th April 1756. The day she’d appeared at the Craig Na Dun the second time. Taking a breath, she removed the string and opened the response letter she’d stored away for several months as though it had truly travelled to the Colonies before she could read it.

_Claire,_

_Someone who waits ten years before writing isna family. Certainly not a Fraser. Say all ye like about being patient ta keep us safe. Ye’re a fool if ye expect me ta believe it. Patience turned my brother into a ghost of himself. Ye did that ta him, Claire. Yer fault. He told ye to leave him, did he? My brother doesna lie ta me and he said ye died near Culloden. And ye say ye thought he was dead. Which is it, Claire?_

_If ye love my brother ye’ll leave him be. I dinna want ye telling Jamie yer excuse of thinking he had died at Culloden. Ye would have kent ta stay if ye had come ta Lallybrock before ye ran away when the British won. I think ye were scared fer yerself and couldna be brave ta stand by Jamie’s side as his wife._

_And I dinna ken how the MacKenzies found Jamie, but they torment him about family. He wilna need yours too, so dinna bother sending anything. The bastards sent him a painting of two children that look like him. They named them after our mother and father too, those bloody MacKenzies. One word about ye bothering Jamie and I’ll make life hell fer ye, no matter where ye’re hiding Sassenach._

_Jenny Fraser Murray, real family of Jamie Fraser._

How could Jenny truly write those words? Such loathing and hate towards someone who had called Claire a sister? After a drink of water, Claire braced herself for the second page. What would she find there? With the first page now placed on her bed, Claire encountered male handwriting.

_Claire,_

_I hope ye havna taken Jenny’s anger ta heart. I ken that she likely hurt ye, but I wish that ye had written sooner. Fate’s twist was a cruel one fer ye and Jamie, and both of ye are missed here at Lallybroch. And while it may hurt ye ta read this, if ye had come ta Lallybroch, before going ta the Colonies, a lot of hurt coulda been avoided._

_Ye said that Jamie told ye he knew he was going ta die at Culloden Moor. Jamie wouldna said such unless he meant it, Claire. I ken that. And I ken that the British were looking for ye too, but not as much as Jamie. Between yerself and Jamie, blame of this mess is equal. Jenny just doesna see that yet because she loves her brother verra much. I dinna think ye acted a coward, but a panicked person with their heart broken and made a mistake. Jamie needs ye in his life, Claire. He isna the same without ye._

_About Jamie, I’m trusting ye not ta make another mistake and ruin things for him. He’s a paroled prisoner serving his sentence at Helwater. Food, clothes, fresh air and no irons. I ken Jaime loves ye, Claire, but if ye love Jaime, ye wilna tempt him ta run away ta find ye. He will have a price on his head again if ye do and he runs. I ken this will be hard for ye, but wait until he is a free man again. If I was in Jaime’s boots and Jenny were in yers, I’d be willing ta run away ta find ye if I knew where ye are. I urge ye, Claire, dinna write ta Jaime. He deserves ta be happy with ye, but if he runs things will get worse. Fer him and fer ye._

_To be with Jamie, ye best choice is ta find work at Helwater so Jamie wilna need ta run away. Ye would be working at Helwater fer years. I dinna ken how long until Jamie is free. Think long and hard until ye ken the best thing ta do. Dinna rush this, Claire. That’s how ye and Jamie were separated last time._

_Make a solid plan before ye do anything. I want ya and Jamie back at Lallybroch, but I dinna want him hiding from Redcoats again. He was a miserable shell of himself. I doubt ye want that fer Jamie a second time._

_Ian._

How could two people with deep care for Jamie react so differently towards her? While both were against Claire contacting Jaime, at least Ian had taken the time of putting himself into hers and Jaime’s shoes. And an unknown number of years? Who in the world would pretend their loved one didn’t exist for several years? What would defeat her first? Insanity of doing nothing or the loneliness?

Claire wandered over to the other side of her chamber. Brian and Ellen napping in their cots. Who could ever consider raising Jamie’s children as not doing anything? But what child deserved not knowing their father for so long either? What lord would employ a mother of twins who were still breastfed? Was the lord in need of a resident healer or did he use one who lived in a nearby town? Could Jaime withstand the separation from his children and wife if they were required to knowingly live apart?

Had Jaime really interpreted the painting of Ellen and Brian as vengeful torment from the MacKenzies for Dougal's murder? Instead of the truth that Jaime was a father? Or had Jenny been angry and lied? What would Jamie have thought if Claire hadn’t used any clan names at all when she wrote the twins’ names beneath their likeness?

Claire had used the MacKenzie clan name as an alias for the twins since their birth. It worked with their red hair. She hadn’t properly considered the use of their alias names, had she? Brian James Murtagh Beauchamp _MacKenzie_. Ellen Claire Sileas _MacKenzie_. Would it have been harmless had she used only ‘Brian James Murtagh’ and ‘Ellen Claire Sileas’? Or would the British be suspicious about the absence of a family name?

She reached the soft hair of each baby. “I will take you to your father. Some day. You will meet him as soon as I can manage. I promise, my loves.”


	3. Forward C.2

Along the outskirts of Inverness with Sileas, Claire knelt in front of shrubbery where some lavender had grown. Nearby in the light of early morning came the giggles and shrieks of young children. A wave of high pitched laughter reached Claire, which made her glance at her twins who aimed snow at each other. Such innocence.

Beside her came a motherly sigh. “Tis haird fer me ta believe I was yer midwife three years ago,” Sileas said. “I’ll miss yer bairns, Lass.”

Claire turned and waited until Sileas met her gaze. What woman besides Claire could have loved her children as much as Sileas had? “They’re lucky to have you in their life. As am I,” she murmured, putting her herb basket on the ground. “You’re a grandmother to them, Sileas. Brian and Ellen will miss you greatly.”

“Aye, I ken it, Lass,” Sileas said, and plucked the ready lavender with a slow hand. “Mo bhalach ruadh, agus mo nighean ruadh,” she whispered.

Her chest grew heavy at the sentiment, but Claire recalled the antics of yesterday. “Not ‘Little terrors from hell?’” Claire asked, quirking an eyebrow at Sileas. She glanced over her shoulder and only the twins were here. “Chan eil ‘Uamhas beaga à ifrinn’?” she repeated in Gàidhlig.

Sileas’s hand rested on Claire’s shoulder while the older woman shook with laughter. “Och, aye. I canna be mad at yer bairns fer long, Claire. Ye mother ‘hem weel,” Sileas said, but her smiled faded. “I canna blame ye fer goin’, Lass. Ye bairns nee’ ‘heir father also. Ye’re lucky ye found ‘im.”

Had there been another way where Claire could have taken them sooner? Claire took a breath and gripped Sileas’s hand. “I have wanted to take them to him for two years, Sileas.”

“Dinna go down ‘hat path, Claire. Ye did righ’ by yer bairns.”

But three years without their father? “Did I?”

“Aye. They ar’ healthy an’ braw. Ready ta travel. Sickness coulda killed ‘em easy b’fore now,” Sileas said and fingers grasped Claire by the chin. “Ye ken ‘tis, Claire. Ye’re a healer; bloody good un. Ye kent da risk was ta high.” 

She gave Sileas a nod and glanced at the lavender shrub. What could be used had been picked. Lifting her basket, Claire waited until Sileas stood beside her once more. Together, they continued their search. Would Jamie forgive her for keeping him in the dark after that painting of Brian and Ellen? For not writing to him afterwards? “Two and a half years ago, I learnt my husband was on an English estate, but I stayed here.”

Sileas sighed. “I ken ye feel guil’y, Lass, but ye said he’s a good man. An’ if ye husban’ is a goo’ man, heel understand why ye waited. Brian and Ellen are his bairns too. E wouldna want ‘em ta die sick.”

A swishing of moving water neared, and Claire lifted her gaze. A couple of ships floated where they were anchored along the port of Inverness, one set of those furled sails would take Claire and her children with the tide tomorrow. “I know you’re right, Sileas. And he is a man who’d do anything for his family.” How would he feel about her silence these past three and a half years? Fergus had said that Jamie claimed she died at Culloden.

“Yer mind is runnin’ away with ye again, Lass. ‘Tis normal ta worry,” Sileas said and stopped, so Claire turned towards her. Hands on both of Claire’s shoulders, Sileas held a stead stare. “Ye said ye’re na going alone. Can ye trust tis man with ye and da bairns?”

Claire gave a firm nod. “I would trust him with all our lives, Sileas.”

“Good. I dinna ken if ye travelled b’fore, but lis’en ta an ol’ woman,” Sileas said, her hold on Claire still steady. “Ye’ll be pushed ta pay more coin on da ship if they ken ye have it. Agreed coin fer da ship. Have yer man barter at da taverns. Tis weel save ye coin. Ye weel be charged less if yer man barters fer ye. Look af’er yer bairns while he looks af’er ye. Aye?”

Had Sileas attempted travel without male company and was extorted in the process? What had she parted with additionally because she’s a woman? Claire rested her hands atop Sileas’s and gave them a light squeeze. “I promise, Sileas.”

After a nod from Sileas, they resumed the herbal search and at one point the older woman gave Claire a wistful look. “Weel I see ye again, Lass? And yer wee Brian and Ellen?”

Does she view them as family or something close to it? Claire put her basket down and embraced Sileas. “I can’t promise they will be wee, but I will do my best to see you again, Sileas. I don’t know where my husband will want to go after I find him,” she said and pulled back enough to see Sileas’s face. “Brian and Ellen will always remember and know about you no matter what happens.”

A glimmer began showing in Sileas’s eyes. “Tapadh leat, Claire.”

“You’re welcome, Sileas. I wouldn’t do less.”

*

According to the captain, Newcastle upon Tyne was less than a day away, Claire retreated from deck and entered one of the cabins with four bunks. “’Out of sight, out of mind’ indeed,” she said and sat on the edge of the bed Brian and Ellen shared.

Ellen stirred first, blinking sleepily. “Mo'her, 'hat man. Why da he stare?” she asked, pointing to top bunk on the other side of the cabin.

Claire stroked Ellen’s cheek and leaned down. fixing the shawl into place so Ellen's face was well hidden like Brian's. “He’s a very good friend of mine and I’ve asked him to make sure you and Brian are safe,” Claire said, and continued stroking the healthy glow of Ellen’s cheeks. Brian’s had a matching colouration. “How’s your belly, sweetheart?”

Her daughter’s eyebrows furrowed. “Tis good. Brian’s too. Ye keep asking. Why?”

A chuckle slipped through her lips, which made her daughter look at her as though confused. She needed to answer now, didn’t she? Claire fiddled with Ellen’s braid. “Another person who’s special to me always got ill when sailing. It appears that you and your brother are lucky.”

“Och, ye mean like people bending ov'r the side?”

Claire kissed Ellen’s forehead so she could muffle herself at the apt description. “Exactly, Ellen,” she whispered against Ellen’s hair. “Now go back to sleep, my girl.”

Giving a sleepy nod, Ellen turned her head towards a darker part of the bunk and her breathing deepened. After a moment, there wasn’t a waver in her daughter’s breath. Claire rose from her children’s bed and walked over to the bunk Ellen had pointed at. Had he seen Brian and Ellen's faces? How had he handled the implication Ellen and Brian represented? Would he utter anything that’ll confuse her children?

She watched his face for a moment, but let out an exaggerated breath. “You’ve been worked to the bone since Inverness,” she uttered in the proximity of his ear. “Why aren’t you sleeping, Fergus?”

His eyes opened and Fergus sat up, his unblinking black gaze towards her children. “They look just like Milord, but younger,” he said and turned to her. “Oui, the captain is demanding, but my mind refuses to rest tonight. How could your petits be Milord’s? Milady, they’re too young to be his. I don’t understand it.”

Claire sighed and nodded. “Search my face for lies, Fergus. I won’t take offence. The only man who has sired any child on me is Jamie.”

“You tell no lie, Milady,” he conceded before furrowing his eyebrows. “But how could they possibly be Milord’s?”

Would it help if he was given two separate accounts of the same event? Or would a reunited story persuade him better? Claire took a breath. “You’re an adult and I trust you, Fergus. So I’m putting the choice in your hands. Once you’re rested, I can tell you with my glass face when you wish. Or, Jamie and I will tell it together at Helwater,” she said and swallowed. “Take all the time you need before you decide. Roughly a hundred miles stand between port and Helwater.”

Fergus blinked and seemed taken aback. “You’re letting me choose, Milady?” he said and climbed down from his bunk. “Any time I want?”

How much or little decision making had he been granted in fourteen years? Claire nodded. “I owe you that at least, Fergus. And a grown man should make his own decisions.”

“Oui, a man should, but I need to think about this,” he said and looked over at Brian and Ellen but shook his head. “Why do they travel as ‘Brian and Ellen _MacKenzie_ ’? I assumed it was their real names, until today. They hid their faces well, but not tonight.”

Had he heard about the painting she’d sent to Jamie? “Safety. And MacKenzie is the only name they know. An alias. I feared what might happen if they uttered ‘Fraser’ after the Uprising,” she said, her throat tightening when Faith drifted to her forefront. Claire swallowed and rested her hand upon Fergus’s shoulder. “Try to rest, Fergus. You’re exhausted.”

“Oui, I am,” he said, climbing back into his bunk. “And, Milady?”

He hadn’t rushed the decision, had he? “Yes, Fergus?”

Lying down on his bed, Fergus tucked his pillow beneath his head. “I’m grateful you’re giving me a choice. Tomorrow, I will decide what I wish for. Good night, Milady.” He closed his eyes.

“Good night, Fergus.”

*

When the ship made port at Newcastle upon Tyne, with her children, Claire watched Fergus with the help of a crew member load her truck of meagre possessions onto a wagon. Physically, Fergus handled himself well. How had he felt in the first few weeks after losing his hand? Had Ian spent time with Fergus to help him adjust to the loss of a limb? What resulted in Fergus having the permission to work on a ship?

Once out of the city and in the privacy of the open road, Claire turned to Fergus. What should she say? And after the shock she’d dropped in his lap last night? Would reaffirming her promise to him ease his mind? “Fergus? If we can’t find Jamie, will you still wish for me to keep my word and return to Lallybroch? Or would you prefer I don’t?”

Where he sat on the driver’s bench, his head whipped around to her. “We will find Milord, Milady. I want to find Milord too,” he said and glanced over their shoulders towards the twins but met her eyes again. “There are…strange things now, but we will see what Milord wants to do, non?”

Hesitation instead of a cold shoulder? Claire gave a tenuous smile. “Oui. When we reach Helwater, we’ll need to find a home in town. I don’t know enough about the estate yet. A catastrophe is the last thing I want to cause when we’re so close.” Had Fergus meant he wished for her to keep the promise? Or that he wasn’t sure just yet? Would it help if she kept from broaching topics with even the slightest connection to the twins?

“Finding Milord first is priority, Milady. Then I must leave for Lallybroch,” he said with a slight grimace. “Ian will need me for the harvest season.” Fergus glanced at her and held eye contact. “My return was the only reason Ian told Jenny I could sail and earn money. There was much fighting, Milady. And non, I did not mention you.”

He kept the promise of secrecy even when Jenny and Ian fought? She dropped her gaze for a moment. “Thank you, Fergus. I’m sorry you witnessed them fighting though. Jenny always gave me the impression she was a very protective person.” With a lip between her teeth, Claire gathered herself. “What was your plan for finding Jamie? It seems you have plans of your own. I hope they will guarantee a safe return to Lallybroch when you must leave.”

Fergus glanced away while seeming to smother something on his face. “I think you will not like it much, Milady.”

Oh God, what has he planned? Claire swallowed. “It uses the skills of a pickpocket, doesn’t it?” she asked. “You’re going to sneak onto the estate.” On his face appeared a guilty grin. “I won’t try to stop you, Fergus.”

Dark eyes were wide and upon hers within a second. “Non, Milady? Just like that?”

Claire took a breath. “Just like that. You’re a grown man, Fergus. I meant what I said about making your own decisions. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be worried sick if you disappear. I will not fight you on this.” She had just given him permission for mischief, hadn’t she? “All I ask you is that you be extra careful and come back to the tavern in town. Be light on your feet.”

He clasped her hand with his flesh one and smiled as though Christmas had come early. “Merci, Milady. Oui, I will not get caught.”

Several days later, but no discussion about the twins, the wagon rolled into a town called Lake District. In the centre stood signage detailing that Helwater was a couple of miles away. Beside her on the driver’s bench, Fergus’s black eyes had a brightness. Claire gripped his shoulder. “Allow me to be the one to tell Jamie about myself and…” she trailed off and glanced at sleepy Ellen and Brian. “And the children. Do what you want as a former pickpocket, Fergus, but will you please give me this one wish?”

Smiling, he gave her a nod and placed his hand atop her own. “Oui, Milady. I’ll help you get a tavern room and see you tomorrow.”

Inside the tavern while Fergus bartered with an older man, Claire kept quiet and once again did as she’d promised Sileas. She kept her three-year-old twins occupied. It would be worth her pride if it saved some money that could go towards establishing herself here should Jamie still be in Helwater.

With the twins sharing a bed, Claire helped Fergus lowered her trunk onto the floor. However, she came around and embraced him. “Be safe.”

“Oui.”

And he slipped out of the room.

*

What was that? Jamie stirred in his scarce room in the servants’ quarters. He flicked his gaze around to find the disturbance. Gripping a concealed knife, Jamie braced himself for an invader.

A barely-there sound of his door’s hinges broke the silence. “Milord?” was whispered.

Jamie exhaled and released the knife. What in the Lord’s name had brought Fergus here? And in the dead of night no less? All this way from Lallybroch? “Are ye insane, Fergus?” he hissed. “Wha’ the devil are ye doing here?”

Light steps came over to him, Fergus’s silhouette barely distinguishable from the darkness. “I’d do anything for you, Milord.”

“Then ye will leave before ye ge’ caught.”

That failed since his adopted son hadn’t moved an inch. “Some questions, then I’ll leave, Milord,” Fergus said in a tone that seemed sincere. “The other grooms are asleep.”

What could Fergus possibly desire knowing that he’d travel hundreds of miles, and sneak around in the middle of the night? “Hmm. Out wi’ it, lad,” Jamie said and sat upright on his bed. “What do ye wanna ken?”

“Are you well? Do you get food? What are the people like to you?”

Good Lord. Questions about his treatment here? Had the boy lost his mind? “’hat’s why ye’re here? Ifrinn, ye coulda asked Ian. Yes ta everything, Fergus. Nothing is wrong. Ye hav’ ta go. Ge’ outta here.”

A breath of relief came from the rough location of Fergus. “One more thing. Tomorrow, I will go back to Lallybroch.”

What else? “Fergus.” The longer Fergus stayed, the higher the chance the boy would get caught.

Fergus mumbled something about difficulty and not breaking promises. “Was there any magic right before Culloden?”

Jamie shut his eyes. Claire. Claire and their bairn. Gone forever. He would never see their son. And it would use ‘Randall’ instead of ‘Fraser’. The only son he would ever see was the illegitimate one he’d been forced into accidentally conceiving. William. A mark upon his vows to Claire. “I wilna talk abou’ i’, Fergus. Claire’s gone.”

A drawn out sigh came filled the room. “Not once have you said ‘dead’. Could Milady do magic? Was she with child?”

Why wouldn’t Fergus drop the subject of Claire? Why had he asked about the bairn? “Claire wasna a witch. Stop, Fergus. Lev' me 'n peace.”

A rapid mumble of frustrated French and a shift of feet where Fergus stood. “Oui, Milord. Sorry, Milord. Everything is good at Lallybroch. No one is hungry. Jenny and Ian are happy. Me and your family miss you very much.”

In the dark, Jamie pinched his nose while willing his eyes to stay dry in front of Fergus. At Craigh na Dun, Claire had vanished in front of his eyes and pregnant with his son, his family. Fergus had no true idea how much Jamie missed them. A wound of his heart ripped open anew, bleeding fresh blood.

Once more, his breath was the only one in the room.

Would Fergus become resentful of Willie if he ever learnt the boy was Jamie’s sole reason he was here? That nothing held Jamie captive but his desire to help raise Willie? His illegitimate son?

*

Claire sat in the tavern with the children eating breakfast when a man sat down beside her as those they belonged there.

“Milady.”

“Fergus. How did it go? I’m glad you’re well.” The set of Fergus’s shoulders was stiff. Had something gone wrong? “What is it, Fergus? What did you learn about Jamie?”

The young man took a breath and rested his true hand upon his wooden one. “Milord is well, but he refused to talk about you or the eve of Culloden. The mention of you pains him fierce, Milady. The one thing he told me about you is you’re not a witch. Milord wouldn’t say more. I kept my word, Milady. He doesn’t know you’re here with…” he said and nodded towards Brian and Ellen.

Fraser stubbornness had stopped Jamie from talking about her, hadn’t it? Claire rubbed her forehead. “Frasers…Did you find out if Helwater has a resident physician? I must find a way onto the estate. I have a few ideas.” 

“Non, Milady. There is not. You will need to find a home here at Lake District.”

Claire nodded. With Fergus returning to Lallybroch post haste, how could she secure a home in the 18th century without a husband? “Fergus,” she said, turning her body fully to him. “Who will I say owns my home here if I manage to buy one?” she asked and took a breath. “The Fraser name is too risky in England.”

“Alexander MacKenzie.”

She blinked. “I don’t understand your meaning. I imagine you could forge a false name like that on a deed, but you’re leaving soon Fergus. What if someone demands to speak to my husband? You’ll be back in Lallybroch for harvest.”

Fergus hadn’t the slightest hint of concern on his face and he stole a glance around before leaning in. “Milord is using that name, Milady. Oui, I could forge signatures, but I would be forging Milord’s fake name. That’s his name on the estate. Alexander MacKenzie.”

Her breath left her. She won’t lose a home here? Claire fixed her gaze on Fergus’s “Would you do it? Forge it?”

“You plan to stay, non? Go back to Milord?”

“Yes, of course. I’m not going anywhere unless Jamie is at my side.”

Fergus nodded. “Then oui, I will do it. He grieves you, Milady.”

Claire removed a string from around her neck; Frank’s gold ring. From her pockets, she withdrew the money she’d saved by living frugally while earning an income as Robert and Sileas’s healer. All of her monetary wealth sat in Fergus’s lap. “This should be enough for a decent home, Fergus. I won’t complain no matter what you buy.”

Fergus tucked the ring and bags of coin into his pockets. “I won’t fail you or Milord, Milady. I shall barter well.”

“You’ve never failed us, Fergus.” She gave him a smile and he flashed one back but quickly ducked out of the tavern.

Hours later in the rented room, Claire stroked her fingers over a small letter that had sat buried in the trunk.

_Claire,_

_I weel miss ye, and Robert weel miss the extra money ye earnt fer him. Lift the false floor o’ the trunk and see wha’ I left ye. Dinna fash, Claire. I ken ye. They’re are me old ones. Robert bought me bonnie ones. Give yer bairns me love._

_Wishin’ ye well,_

_Sileas_

What had she done to ever deserve encountering Sileas? Claire lifted away the bottom of the trunk and breathed a sharp breath. She left these for her? Moisture gather a little in her eyes and Claire dabbed them. How could she thank Sileas for these? Lifting out an old mortar and pestle, Claire pictured Sileas grinding ingredients inside the rock bowl with the pestle. There were some jars and a small cup for measuring. The core items a physician needed.

“Thank you, Sileas.” Putting the mortar and pestle away, Claire repacked the trunk.

A knock snapped her out of her stupor. Entering the room, Fergus approached and held a piece of paper out to her. “It is done, Milady,” he said with a smug smile and dug his hand into his pocket. Out came a small bag. “I believe there’s enough to for a week’s food in here.”

Claire stroked the dry signature. _Alexander MacKenzie_. Jamie. “You did it, Fergus,” she said and placed both items on the bed. How hard he must have bartered to manage this? Claire gave him a quick hug and swallowed. “Merci.”

“Find Milord and make him happy, oui?”

“Yes. Yes, I will,” she said, eyes on Fergus who gazed at Brian and Ellen. “Fergus? What is it?”

Fergus sat down beside the deed and remaining coin, eyes on her children playing on the floor. “The first time I saw you again, it made me think of days before Culloden. The same dress. Years younger than Jenny now. Milord wouldn’t tell me anything on the estate.” Fergus took a breath and finally met her eyes. “I want to hear your story, Milady. What happened?”

Would she be interrupted with anger and accusation of lies? “It will be hard to believe,” she warned.

He kept his gaze on her. “I want to know.”

Claire sat down with her face to him. “The odds were clear that Culloden Moor would be a slaughter for the Scots, so Jamie took me to Craigh na Dun. He knew before I did that I was pregnant. Intent on dying in battle with the other Scots, Jamie planned to do what it took for our baby to live. We would never see each other again, or so we believed, and the concept of it was heartbreaking. I would rather have died at Culloden with Jamie, but our baby...”

Fergus stroked his lip with a thumb. “You’re scared of telling me what happened at Craigh na Dun. What happened there, Milady?” 

Would he believe her? “What actually happened there wasn’t what Jamie and I expected. I doubt he’s aware of the truth yet. Ian told me to not write to Jamie and that’s why he wouldn’t know. Craigh na Dun…” she trailed off and shuddered. How would Fergus react? “Craigh na Dun. Jesus H Roosevelt Christ…you will think I’m insane.”

“Just say it, Milady.”

Would something of reference soften this? Claire squared her shoulders. “Have you ever heard of ‘The Woman of Balnain’?”

Fergus shook his head. “No. What happened at Craigh na Dun?” 

How could she tell it to a twenty-four-year old Fergus and be believed? How could she avoid direct mention of magic? Claire made sure her eyes were firmly on Fergus’s. With the twins involved in this mess, could she bring herself to say it without Jamie’s support?

“On that day, both Jamie and I thought we’d lost each other forever.” Claire flexed her hands and took a breath. “I’m sorry, Fergus, but unless you knew ‘The Woman of Balnain’ none of this will make sense. The situation is too complex to tell even Ian or Jenny on my own. I need Jamie.” Would Fergus forgive her for disappointing him?

“Your hands are shaking, Milady,” Fergus said, and a hand of flesh along with a hand of wood held her own. “Why are you so scared?”

They were? Claire glanced at her hands but looked back up. “You’re family to me, Fergus.” She swallowed. “You’re more than a pickpocket my husband found in Paris.”

Fergus blinked and sat back. “Is there anything you can tell me about Craigh na Dun, Milady?”

Surely there was something to sate him? “Yes. There is a difference between Craigh na Dun and ‘The Woman of Balnain’.”

He wetted his lips. “Which is?”

“Something went wrong for us,” she said. “I don’t look the way I should. Brian and Ellen don’t either.” Claire straightened. What would he do with the breadcrumbs she was giving him? “I’m aware this is little on the details, Fergus, but once Ian tells you ‘The Woman of Balnain’ many things should make sense. When he does, please remember that I was pregnant at Craigh na Dun.”

Fergus gazed over at her twins. “Why won’t you tell me about ‘The Woman of Balnain’ yourself?”

Claire released a breath. “Two reasons, and neither are cowardice,” she said, which drew his eye. “First, telling it myself doesn’t prove I haven’t made it up. Second, you first saw Brian and Ellen’s faces properly only a week ago. I’d be surprised if you’re not still confused and reeling from it. Am I wrong your mind hasn’t settled yet?”

He ran his hand through his black locks. “Non, Milady. It has not. And I promised Ian I’d return for harvest season.” Fergus got up and paced near the door. “I also promised Milord I would start returning to Lallybroch today.” He shook his head, halted and turned to her. “When Milord is free, you will return to Lallybroch? Both of you will tell me?”

Willing to compromise despite his curiosity? Claire rose to her feet. “My plan had always been to return with Jamie. Yes, Fergus. We will tell you together.”

With a nod, Fergus came over to her. “Tell Milord soon, Milady. Tell him you’re alive. He needs to know.”

She gave him a soft smile. “I’ve travelled hundreds of miles and bought a home here. I intend to. You have my word,” she said and took his hand. Perhaps proof of her word and a gesture of goodwill? “Take my horse, Fergus. It’s the least I can do.”

“Truly? Merci, Milady.”

"We'll return when Jaime's free."

Fergus nodded and gave a brief hug. “Please write to me.”

“Every second month, Fergus.” 

A short while later outside her newly purchased home, Claire unhitched her horse from the wagon, saddled it and gave the reins to Fergus.

“Au revoir. Milady,” he said, a hook on his wrist instead of the false hand.

“Safe travels,” she said and assisted him into the saddle. “Keep warm on the road.”

“Oui.”

A trail of snow fluttered in the air while the thundering of hooves weakened. “Be safe, Fergus,” she murmured.


	4. Forward C.3

In the weeks that followed, life as a lone mother of two and establishing a reputation for her own apothecary proved strenuos. But she held no regrets. It might give her the opportunity to roam Helwater safely. What would she have done if Fergus hadn't forged Jamie’s false name on the house deed? Endure some kind of legal struggle as well for being a woman, perhaps?

Little crunches of leaves ahead of her drew her eyes once more. She cleared her throat. “Brian!” she called out to her son. “Stay near your sister.” How much energy did her son have?

“Aye, Brian! Stay wi’ me!” Ellen butted in, the intonations of a Scot in her speech.

“Nay, Ellen. Loo’ ‘ere!” Brian countered her, his voice a male version of his sister’s. Sileas’s time with them had left a mark upon the twins. “La’venda!”

Claire smothered her laughter and knelt down where she found comfrey. Ideal for joint pains and tender injuries.

Small girly grunts made Claire smile while she imagine her daughter trying to be helpful. “Ma!” Ellen called out, her tone gleeful. Claire turned towards her, smiling at her daughter’s happiness. “Loo’ wo’ I hav!” she said, thrusting a handful of lavender towards her. “Brian foun’ it!”

Leaning forward, Claire took it and pecked her little girl on the cheek. “That was clever of him, wasn’t it? What do I have, Ellen?”

“Um ‘tis…co…com-fey! ‘Tis com-fey!” Ellen said, smiling proud of herself.

“’Tis,” she said in a poor imitation of a Scot. Would her loves keep the accent of their father? “Let’s catch up with your brother, love.” Once the three of them were together, she gave a one arm hug to Brian. “Good work, Rascal. Let’s see what else you two can find and name, aye?”

“Aye!”

“Aye!”

Claire chuckled while they ran ahead. However, her smile waned while she followed her children. She ached to try her hand at asking permission to forage on the Helwater estate. Were the Dunsanys the sort of people who would permit it? Was her physician reputation good enough to persuade them? Would she finally get to see Jamie and tell him everything? That he was a father of not one, but two healthy children?

She picked up the pace and closed the gap from her children. In the process, she crested a hill and gasped at the sight of wealth and privilege. Potential danger to the twins. Her heart raced. “Jesus H Roosevelt Chris! BRIAN! ELLEN! Stop right there!” she shouted, releasing her basket and ran to them. 

Ellen turned where she stood. “Aww…bu’ ’tis so bonnie.”

Brian tugged on Ellen’s shoulder. “Ma scaird, E’len.”

“Damn right, I am,” Claire said and lifted them onto her hips. “We’re not allowed here.” Not yet.

On Claire’s left hip, Brian wiggled but touched her cheek. “Why ye scaird, Ma?”

“The people there don’t know me, you, or your sister. A lot of people don’t like strangers,” she said and lowered the twins down beside her abandoned basket. “Now, who’s hungry?”

“Me!”

“Me, me! Me hungwy!” Of course he was.

“Let’s go home, you two,” Claire said, lifting the basket enough for the twins to both grasp the handle. “Work together now. Mother’s arms are tired,” she said and smiled when they began carrying her herbs back to Lake District. Over the hill once again, her heart began slowing down.

That evening with the twins washed and asleep, Claire paced her room with frequent glances at closed door of each twin. What would have happened had they gone closer? Been seen? What were the Dunsanys like besides a rich family? Was Helwater as benign as it looked beautiful? Would her stubborn Scot twins attempt wandering off for a closer look on their own?

Another glance at their doors, Claire shook her head. Their father was going to be the death of her without even knowing it. There was but one thing to do in the morning. Her heart quickened at the fact.

Claire rose with the sun and took her time dressing while Brian and Ellen slept. Life was modest, so her best dress couldn’t hold a candle to Paris, but she worked with what she had. Would she encounter snobs or compassionate people? Putting her brush down, Claire split her hair into a half-and-half so there wouldn’t be too many knots from her curls later. Would that be good enough that the Dunsanys would grant her an audience?

Once Brian and Ellen were dressed and fed, she took them downstairs and through the store floor of their home. The ‘Open’ sign left to say ‘Closed’, Claire took a basket of remedies and locked the storefront once the twins were beside her.

Ellen tugged on her skirts. “Yer verra bonnie, Ma. Am I bonnie too?”

With a finger, she stroked her cheek. “You’re always bonnie, Ellen,” she said and turned to Brian. “And you’re always braw, Rascal.”

Brian grinned. “I ken.” Jamie would have laughed.

Chuckling, Claire shook her head. “Stay close, you two,” she said and led them through Lake District to the home of a frequent customer and the person she trusted most here. Knocking on the door, Claire turned her attention to the twins. “Be good for Mrs Bradley, loves. Understand?”

“Aye.”

Brian nodded quickly. “Aye. Evry tine. I like Ben’ga’men.”

Ellen smiled and joined her brother. “Li’ly fun, ‘oo.”

The door opened and a familiar voice chuckled. “Oh, Claire,” Amanda said with a smile. “That day of the week already?”

“I know they can be a handful…”

Amanda gave a dismissive wave. “Nonsense, Claire. Mine have pulled out toys already,” she said and stepped closer to whisper in her ear. “Honestly, they keep Benjamin and Lily out of my hair. It’s a nice relief. Same time this afternoon?”

She smiled. “That would be fantastic.”

The fellow mother glanced down at the twins. “Ellen, Brian. Go to the playroom,” she told them and the two dashed inside. Amanda laughed and turned to Claire. “You’re looking lovely today. What’s the occasion?”

A fellow mother would understand, surely? “I just need a quick word with the Dunsanys,” Claire whispered. “The children and I were foraging yesterday and I hadn’t realised where we were until they saw Helwater. I had to dash and get them off the estate. My heart was in my throat.”

Amanda smiled. “You have my sympathies, Claire. I fear the day mine become as tall as yours,” she said and stepped back, taking a look at Claire. “You’re well put together. It should be fine.”

“Thank you,” Claire said and pulled a jar out of her basket. “Your husband’s knee.”

“He complains far less these days. I don’t know how you handle motherhood and an apothecary.”

Claire chuckled. “Not easily while their father’s away, but thank you, Amanda. I’ll see you this afternoon.”

“Good luck, Claire.”

With the children safe under Amanda’s care, Claire made for Helwater.

Cresting the hill to the estate once again, she took a breath and pushed aside the fright of yesterday. She alone stood on the estate now. Unwilling to test her luck, Claire proceeded down the long path to the front door. Helwater was indeed beautiful. Versailles had been as well, but unpleasant business.

Three quarters down the path, the trot of a horse neared her from behind. She slid a hand into her basket. To her side and dismounting was a well-dressed man of roughly thirty years. Blond, light blue eyes, and matched her height. “Madam, may I have the pleasure of escorting you to the front door?” he asked her, holding the reins in one hand. His other hand remained at his side.

Would he have made that offer had she been forty-four, instead of thirty-four? Claire curtsied. “I would much appreciate it, my lord,” she said, noting his features. Once she had guessed Hamish MacKenzie’s parentage at Leoch. It hadn’t served her well. There was something about his face though.

The man had an inquisitive gaze. “What brings you to Helwater, may I ask, Madam?” he asked, keeping a distance between them but not enough to appear rude.

Claire kept her children out of it. “I’m a physician. Helwater is vast, but my herbal variety isn’t. It’s my hope they’ll be interested in an offer that may benefit all involved.”

The man gave the reins to an approaching man, but it wasn’t Jamie. “The Dunsanys wouldn’t turn away a proposal if it’s fair,” he said, stopping at the top of the stairs and brushed off some road dust. “Lord Dunsany is a friend. I’ll mention your wish of an audience.”

“You have my thanks,” she said and glance towards a shaded path with flowers and greenery. Why was a polite conversation so stifling? “May I await your answer in the gardens? The flowers are gorgeous.”

“Seems like a harmless request, Madam,” he said with a smile of respect but nothing else. “I’ll inform you once I’m finish, but that will be some time I’m afraid.”

Claire curtsied. “That will be absolutely fine. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Madam.” The man entered the manor, and without him the air became more breathable.

Down the side of the manor, Claire forced herself to touch each flower while she walked. Where was Jamie? Was he in the stables now? Or did he have a task elsewhere? What would he think of her? Their now smaller but reserved age difference? The children? As a paroled prisoner, would he be allowed off the estate? Would it be unwise to bring the twins here? She took a heavy breath.

“Excuse me, Miss,” a young woman asked and Claire turned. Short, blonde, fair-skinned with blue-green eyes, approximiately twenty. ‘Have you taken ill?” she asked with a gentle gaze. “It looks like you’re greatly troubled.”

Claire exhaled and nodded. “Nerves. I’ve never been here before. After the gentleman visitor, I wish to speak with Lord Dunsany.”

The younger woman gave her a smile. “My father is a kind man, Miss. There’s no need to be nervous. I’m his daughter, Lady Isobel Dunsany. Would you walk with me until my father is available?” she asked, smiling as though she desired the company. A toddler’s cry pierced the air and Isobel sighed. “That’s my nephew. William. I must go, Miss. He calms in my hold. Little else works at the moment.”

It had been a toddler’s cry, hadn’t it? “Is it his teeth? My twins were the same,” she said, giving the young woman a smile. “If something ails him, I’m a physician in Lake District. My name is Claire.” Had it been right to withhold her MacKenzie alias?

Isobel smiled and raised her skirts from the ground. “You're the new physician in town? I've heard you're knowledgable, Miss Claire. Hopefully your discussion with my father goes well. I apologise, but I must go,” she said, turning to leave.

“Perfectly understandable, Lady Isobel. Please don’t stay on my account. A young child needs you.”

Isobel smiled and dashed through a courtyard on the side of the manor further down a path that opened out to fields.

Once again alone, Claire continued down and seeking the scent of horses. Where Jamie would hopefully be. She touched every flower so her pace wouldn't draw eyes.

*

In the round paddock, working with a young colt, Jamie murmured Gaidhlig in the ear of the restless creature.

“MacKenzie!” called a fellow groom. Eric. His least favourite.

Jamie kept his eyes on the colt, rubbing its neck. “Aye?”

“Leave the colt and freshen up. You’ve got a visitor,” said Eric and turning away but paused. “Make sure you get a good gaze of the other one. A real English rose. Even a Scot’s eyes would linger on her.”

Jamie scowled but smothered it when he turned to Eric, who stood beside the paddock gate. “Aye, I’ll freshen up, but I wilna gaze. I doubt I’ll have the time,” he said, letting himself out of the paddock. He’d have said more so Eric wouldn’t hound him, but less words worked better with that man.

“Your loss, MacKenzie. She’s got a nice round arse, that one.”

Jamie flexed his good hand and glanced over his shoulder. “Do what ye will, but I wilna join ye,” he grounded out and strode off. Must the other men assume he’d stare at pretty women and picture them as whores? Claire was gone, aye, but he still had honour and still loved her. Lady Geneva had not been a lover or a choice. She’d threatened the safety of those he loved; vulnerable family at Lallybroch.

That woman had not deserved death but had had some nerve while at Helwater. An apt name for the estate. A pool of hell. Perhaps a small taste of his eternal fate? At least here he would have a hand in raising a son, even an illegitimate one. His other son was two hundred years away in the future.

A wash and a fresh shirt later, he came out of the grooms’ quarters. On his right, two fellow but decent grooms were chatting outside the stable. Further on was the rest of the manor. How had Fergus snuck past without disturbing the horses that night? Or had he? What compelled him to leave Lallybroch and come here for a clandestine visit? Had Fergus told Jenny that he’d intended to go? Jamie hoped Jenny was all right.

One word to Lady Dunsany and Jamie could leave as a free man within a few weeks. However, Willie was here. Jamie couldn’t turn his back on his son. Lallybroch was no doubt doing well under Jenny and Ian’s management.

Turning a corner, Jamie got moving. Despite what John Grey silently harbour, the polite conversation and challenging games of chess were welcome disruptions to the routine of Helwater. With his eyes on the ground, so Eric couldn’t accuse him of lying, Jamie went through the side courtyard and made an encounter less likely. Eric could be a relentless bastard when handed the opportunity to rile Jamie up.

Walking in the manor, movement outside towards the stable caught his eye. He froze. It was a woman with an eery likeness to Claire, except too young. Younger than he was now. Was he hallucinating again? It had to be. Why wouldn’t his mind stop tormenting him about his wife?

Feminine steps upon tiles approached in a familiar gait. “Mr MacKenzie, is something the matter?” Lady Isobel asked, coming up beside him with Willie in her arms. She stopped near the window. “That's the praised physician of Lake District. During our encounter earlier, she was very compassionate when Willie cried and I had to abandon our walk together. Is she familiar to you? Do you know Miss Claire?”

What? Lady Isobel could see her too? Could it be? Claire? Here? Now? How? Jamie shuddered where he stood. He inhaled. “Aye,” he breathed, not daring to turn around. “Woul’ ye excuse me, Lady Isobel? I need tae have a word with her.” 

Lady Isobel stepped closer. “Will you be all right, Mr MacKenzie?”

Jamie breathed out. “Aye.”

A moment passed and a hum came from Lady Isobel. “I don’t know her well, but you’re excused. Go, Mr MacKenzie. If her reputation is true, she'll know whatever remedy you require.” 

Lady Isobel stepped back. Jamie turned to Lady Isobel and nodded. “Than’ ye, milady.” He gave a quick bow and went back. Strides lengthened while his heart raced. There couldn't be a remedy for his heart, but he had to put his mind to rest about this physician.

Out into the side courtyard, Jamie crossed it but halted at the archway. He gripped the stone to the point that it bit into his fingers. 

Below the railing of the courtyard, the woman walked beyond towards the stables. Very fair fingers fiddled with a silver ring. However, there was no gold ring in sight. What did that mean? Her wild brown curls brightened and darkened while shifting on her back. Such curls without effort had been envied at Leoch. Could it truly be Claire? Dare he risk calling out ‘Sassenach’ this far apart from her on English soil? A word others used to insult instead of one of endearment like him? What would draw her attention?

Jamie took one step down and fought his constricted throat. “Mo nighean donn?”

The woman whirled around and opened her mouth, faltered, but opened it again. “Je suis prest,” she uttered, dropping her basket. French. The Fraser motto. Claire grabbed her skirts and dashed up the stairs until she stood beside him. “Je suis prest. I’m here. It’s me.”

How? Truly? She was here? Jamie lifted his hand slowly towards her cheek. Would his hand touch skin this time? It shook while it hovered beside her cheek. He wetted his lips and reached. Flesh. His breath hitched. From her came a choked sob. Her eyes shone wet. What had he done to be blessed with another chance? “Sassenach, I would verra much like to kiss you. May I?”

Claire smiled while her tears wetted his fingers. “Yes.” A soft hand crept into the depths of his hair.

His hand in her loose curls, he leaned down and whispered against her lips. “I dinna ken if I can lose ye again, Claire.”

“Neither do I.”

Guiding her closer by a hand on her back, Jamie leaned down and committed the slow kisses to memory. Warmth washed over him as though he’d drunk fine whisky on a cold Highlands night. She melted against him and buried her hands in his hair. Claire's arm held Jaime close. "Sassenach," he murmured after a moment and pecked her lips. He pulled back to run his thumbs over her cheeks, which elected a wider smile from her.

Claire exhaled softly and rested her head upon his chest, arms wrapped tight around him. “You survived Culloden,” she whispered and, through his shirt, pecked his heart. "You survived," she said and pressed her cheek against his chest with clear intent of staying there.

His lass's body shook against him within his hold, unvoiced emotions brimming from her. “Aye. Aye, I did, mo nighean donn.” He lowered his cheek onto the crown of her head. Had Craigh na Dun saved his family? He rubbed her back. “Our bairn?” he asked, lifting her chin until her wet whisky eyes bore into him.

Her smile was contagious and moisture shone in her eyes. “Brian, after your father-.”

He leaned down and stole her words. She gave as good as she got, but pulled back and he stilled. Had he done something wrong? Did she not want him? He cupped her cheek. “Sassenach?”

Eyes bright with a stray tear, she smiled wide and stroked his face. “And Ellen, after your mother,” she said, shining eyes darted over his face in search of something. “Twins.”

What? Not one bairn, but two? Brian and Ellen? Son and daughter? Like the MacKenzie painting? His hand on her cheek shook a little while he stared. “Truly? Two bairns?”

Claire rose a little and pressed her lips to his. “Yes. Ellen Claire Sileas and Brian James Murtagh." She shifted and soft hands buried in his hair. “I hope I did their likeness justice. It was the only way I could tell you without raising suspicion here. I dared not use 'Fraser' or 'Murray'. There’s so much to tell you, Jamie.”

He brought her to his chest and trailed his fingers down her smooth cheek. “Thank ye, Claire. 'Tis a grand gif',” he said and kissed her hair. “Thank ye.” Would he ever meet his children? Or be part of their lives in some form? “Do they ken abou’ me, Sassenach?”

Claire licked her lips and swallowed. “Jamie, you can truly be in their lives. Their father.” She stood on her toes near his ear. He held her waist steady. Her soft lips brushed his ear. “Craigh na Dun never resulted in my time. It resulted in 1756. I gave birth November 1756 at Inverness. Brian and Ellen are nearly four years old now. I’ve wanted to come here for years. I would have written, but Ian warned me against it.”

Jamie turned his head and cupped her face. They were in this time? He could be a father to their children? Watch them grow up? Did Jenny and Ian know about the bairns? Why hadn't they said anything? Jamie led Claire over to a bench and wrapped an arm around her back. Were Brian and Ellen safe? Why weren't they born at Lallybroch? “Inverness? Our bairns. Jenny an' Ian never wrote about ye or our bairns. Have our bairns no' seen Lallybrock, Sassenach?” he asked, brushing Claire’s wilful curls away from her face.

Soft as a feather, a hand traced his cheek, its thumb rubbing back and forth. Claire took a breath and rested her forehead against his. “How will we explain the twins to them? Ian thinks I'm in the Colonies. Fergus is confused. I fear what telling him everything will lead to.”

He kept his forehead resting against hers. His imagination had never touched him. Contact meant his mind wasn't crafting Claire out of his burn for her. “Fergus knows?”

Claire’s fingers left a tingle when they ran through his hair. “Only the barest details. That they're mine. He recognised their resemblance to you a short while ago. Their age confuses him. I told Fergus I was pregnant before Culloden. That we went to Craigh na Dun to do something that would save the baby, but separate you from me. That’s all I told him. I was uncomfortable to give him more than that, but he accepted a promise that we’ll tell him together when we return to Lallybroch. When we go home.”

If she hadn’t been with Jenny and Ian, how had she kept herself and the twins safe? “Claire, if ye or the bairns used 'Murray' or 'Fraser', Jenny and Ian would o' been curious an' found ye.”

Her smile twitched. “I chose your mother’s maiden name. MacKenzie. I’ve taught myself to react to it in Inverness,” she said and paused her ministrations. “At Lake District, I've been using it there. And to protect the house, Fergus provided some mischievous assistance after he learnt your name here.”

Had his wife tried to innocently imply she had Fergus dabble in what he shouldn't? Jamie chuckled and leaned towards her ear. “Sounds like ye had ‘im forge me alias on the house deed, Sassenach.”

An impish smile appeared along with pink in her cheeks. “Something like that.” The smile slid away. “Jaime, the people at Lake District know me as Claire MacKenzie. Word will reach Helwater, if it hasn’t already. And Brian and Ellen are spitting images of you. Could we possibly…”

How, after nearly fourteen years apart, could he possibly withstand staying away from the woman who held his heart? Or pretend Brian and Ellen weren’t his flesh and blood? And after being denied a family for so long? Claire wouldn't have lied about something like this. Her glass face made it impossible as well. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Husband and wife? Aye. I wouldna do different, Sassenach.”

A hand on his chin turned his face until their eyes met. Unease hovered in Claire’s eyes. “The twins were conceived in late winter. What will we say?” A small hand rested within his.

Winter’s end four years ago? “Weel I became a groom ‘ere a few months after. I was paid a stipend,” he said and pecked her temple. “Husband and wife starting a family. I started working as a groom, but ye couldn't travel until now because ye were with bairn and chose to raise ‘em a bit near family. ‘Tis close enough to truth. I keep to meself here.”

Claire bit her bottom lip, so he thumbed the corner of it. She swallowed. “And Lallybroch?”

That would be many shouts and accusations, no doubt. Jamie drew her into his lap and held her against him. “Another day, Sassenach,” he murmured, running his forefinger over her brow. Holding his wife, Jamie’s gaze slid towards the manor for a moment. Did she know about Willie? She would see his eyes in the bairn if she was called upon for remedies. Would she listen if he told her now? Jamie glanced at the manor again and ran a hand over his mouth. Was there any other choice? It was only a matter of time. “Claire?”

She straightened up and looked him in the eye. “What’s wrong?” she asked, rising when he guided her out of his lap and onto their feet. “What is it?”

He took a quick breath. “Come wi’ me. A private part o' Helwater,” he said and rested her hand within both of his own. He stepped backwards towards the stairs and lightly pulled on her hand. “I rather ye haird it from me, Claire.” 

Her eyebrows furrowed, but she followed his lead. However, she slowed when they neared the treeline. “This far from the manor? What’s happened, Jamie?”

Would he run out of time? He was expected at the manor. Jaime wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulders and kept them moving. “I dinna wanna be interrupted. ‘Tis the best place.” He stole a look back towards the manor and pressed on into the trees. “Ye need tae ken the truth, Claire.” 

She wandered over to a fallen tree and sat down. “You can tell me anything. Just say what needs to be said.”

Heart quickening, Jamie nodded and sat astride the log. “When I started ‘ere, they dinna ken who I was. Who I was in the Rising. They lost a son at Prestonpans an' hated Jacobites. Lord Dunsany kent my identity, but the Lady dinna ken. I wouldna be ‘ere if she kent,” he said, setting the foundation of what occurred.

Claire’s eyes were focussed on him and soft hands took hold of his, which eased his breathing. “We’ve been through thick and think, James Fraser. Take your time.”

He gave a quick smile which disappeared as quickly. “Thank ye, Claire.” Jamie closed his eyes for a moment. “Three years ago, a lass threaten ta reveal me identity ta Lady Dunsany if I refused ta do what she wanted. I dinna care about me fate, so I said no. She didna like ‘hat. Lallybroch was next. Tol’ me soldiers would be sent ta Lallybroch if I refused again. I couldna refuse that tine. Jenny, Ian, an' their bairns. I had ta do it ta protect ‘hem.” Would Claire continue listening once she knew what Geneva had forced him to do?

A gentle squeeze drew his eyes back to Claire. “If someone threatened you or our twins, I would do whatever it took to ensure your safety. Whatever it was, you had no choice, Jamie.

Would she think the same way once she learnt it all? “’Tis wil’ hurt ye, Claire.”

She cupped his cheek. “The fact your telling me means a lot. Whatever it was, you did what you did for your family’s sake. You refused until she threatened family. That speaks volume of how unwilling you were.”

Why was she persistently forgiving him before she knew? What would happen once she did? How could he phrase it and not hurt Claire? He dropped his gaze, but soft fingers lifted his chin and Claire gave an encouraging nod. Jamie drew from that. “Tis lass was Lady Geneva Dunsany. Eldest daugh'er o’ the Lord and Lady. She go’ a British soldier drunk ta ken who I was. Later, she made 'er threats.”

A gentle thumb ran back and forth over his shoulder. “And her demand? You can tell me, Jamie.”

Claire had been raising their bairns in Inverness at the time. Not that he had known. Jamie looked her in the eyes. “’I dinna do it ta shame ye, Claire,” he said, but Claire just nodded. “Lady Geneva was arranged ta marry a man ol’ enough ta be ‘er grandsire. A wee bit o’er a week afore da wedding she came and made her threats. Threatened Lallybroch.” He wetted his lips. “She demanded I came ta ‘er room third night before da weddin’. I kent wha’ she meant. Many times I said she coul’ change her mind, but she dinna. She wouldna.”

She cupped his cheek before sliding her hand into his hair. “I doubt you could love someone who threatens your family. She gave you no choice.”

Jaime drew back a little and sat hip to hip beside Claire. She might not want to be touching him once she knew it all. “Nay. I dinna love ‘er, Claire.”

Claire gave him a soft smile. “Then you shouldn’t act guilty. It was against your freewill.”

How would Claire react to the result of that night? He took a breath and looked into her soft whisky eyes. “Claire. She had a son. Has me eyes. She didna survive, but the bairn lives here. William. He turned three tis year.”

She was silent, her hands together in her lap for a long while. “Oh,” she said softly, stood up and took a few steps away.

What was she thinking? Betrayal? Hurt? “Claire?”

Claire turned with a uneasy look, but reached for his hands and tugged for him to rise. Standing close, she fiddled along his collarbone, her eyes followed her fingers. “Do they know?”

Jamie gingerly stroked her fingers that touched his clothed chest. Her hand remained there. His breath shuddered. “Lady Isobel, aye, bu’ said she wilna say anything. She kens da threats. Poss’bly Lady Dunsany but no' Lord Dunsany. ‘They dinna ken da threats. Both saw me shoot the Earl who woulda killed Willie when ‘e was born. Da lord b'lieves I was only saving da bairn, I tink. He doesna ken I'm da father.”

She rested her forehead near his heart and shook on an exhale. He lightly wrapped her within his arms, so she could pull away if she wanted. Claire looked up at him. “I wish we had more time to discuss this, but I’m expected by Lord Dunsany.”

“Aye,” he whispered and slowly lifted her fingers to his lips. She gave a small smile, so he cupped the back of her head and kissed her hair. “Aye, I also. No' Lord Dunsany, bu' Lord Grey.”

Claire looked up with worried eyes. “Jamie…”

How hurt was she? He brushed a finger down her cheek. "I'm sorry, Claire.”

She shook her head. "It's not as though you planned for it to happen. Thank you for telling me, but I need some time. This is a lot to digest, Jaime." Standing straight, her eyes become concerned again. “Will introducing myself as ‘Claire MacKenzie’ to the Dunsanys endanger Brian and Ellen?”

He stroked her hair and shook his head. “I dinna think so. Dinna fash.”

She released a breath and stepped back. “I mustn't keep them waiting.”

Would she return to him? “Aye, I ken, Claire.”

She gave him a nod and hurried away towards the manor.

Jaime leaned against the nearest tree. His Sassenach was here. She had their bairns. And they were still little. Would they accept him as their father? Could he raise them at Lallybroch like his father before him? After everything she now knew, did his nighean donn still want him? Was she his, the same way he had always belonged to her from the beginning? 


End file.
